As the colonel opens his mouth to hail you, he is interrupted by an aide. You take the opportunity to browse some of the scrolls and papers scattered before him. Most offer little information; reports of missing or killed companies, alleged sightings of deserters, desperate pleas addressed to Isidore and the Lannover council of regent scholars to recall this fog, manifests of supplies and maps of troop movement. You suddenly have a much better understanding of the vastness of resources being marshaled to the war effort under Ailfryd Ó Morain, the Ard-Ceannaire. You also notice reports of dissidence in the more remote regions of Súilleabháin; finally, you spy a letter written in a child's hand addressed to "Colonel Daddy."
RYLOOS
Gotta roll to get the boy's soul any additional information.
ALL
Agrellis dismisses the aide with a tired and desultory wave before addressing your team, running a hand through graying hair. The colonel is handsome, with a strong jaw and enviable mustache; but his eyes belie a profound and crippling fatigue, etched in the wrinkles about his eyes and his seemingly immutable frown. Turning to your squad, Colonel Agrellis studies you for a moment. Several, actually, most of which are devoted to glaring at HELIOS and Buoyside - the former for his preposterous salute, the latter for his uncomfortable propinquity - his smoldering anger tangible in his white-knuckled fists and tense trapezius muscles. After a period of uncomfortable silence, he speaks, his voice low and mirthless.
"At ease, 'soldiers.'" His cynicism is palpable. He addresses Lofty. "Sergeant Lofty. I note that your attire fails to comply with then standard uniform regulations of officers, but I've come to expect little more of you. I hope your men are well rested."
With a perfunctory nod, he directs your attention to a crude map detailing the positions of the 4/5ths Army in relation to the city of Cionn tSáile's walls. You note that the heart of the city is covered in question marks. The colonel speaks once more.
"Here's the issue. We can't seem to get into this damn city. Every time we manage to scare some of our men over Kinsale's -" you notice that his pronunciation suggests that he was reared in Ardun Ghariba or southern Dunbane "- damn walls, we lose all contact with them. Fourteen hundred men, and not a trace of them left! 'Cept those that come walking back out of the mist...but then again, there ain't much left of 'em. The so-called leathchinn." He sighes. "It's this damn fog. It's swallowing us whole."
As he speaks, a number of companies march and/or ride past, each disappearing into the fog. But here, Agrellis' voice catches, and he clumsily falls to one knee, bowing his head. Turning, you watch a young woman pass through the midst of a company of soldiers, the men genuflecting before her. Dressed in elaborate white robes and carrying a beautiful decorated kite shield, you recognize her as the Sixth Saint Alythsia. She is accompanied by a group of warriors clad in plate armor and white livery - her storied knight priestesses. Alythsia's lovely face is calm, eyes closed and face slightly elevated as if in some sort of ecclesiastical rapture. Her companions regard you and the other soldiers with suspicion and disdain as they pass, their comely faces marred by haughtiness.
Some distance behind a young man follows, his stride slow and graceful. Tall, blond, and almost feminine in his beauty, the Seventh Saint Arden is dressed in half plate, the massive maul Gloom balanced casually on his right shoulder; its silvered head pitted and stained with blood from countless battles, Gloom is equal parts sacred relic and cruel implement of war. Arden's noble visage is held facing forward, jaw clenched, eyes unfocused, his posture suggesting a carefully contained violence; the saint appears preoccupied with his thoughts, their nature inscrutable but troubling. You briefly ponder the inner dialogue of a living incarnation of the gods.
It is only after the saints have passed do you realize how quiet the camp had fallen, almost as if the war itself had held its breath in their divine presence. Several men nearby wipe tears of joy from their faces; yet others press their lips to the ground in reverence. Suffice it to say that their presence on the battlefield is a big deal.
Blowing his nose on his sleeve, Agrellis turns and resumes his speech, his voice cracking with emotion. "Uh, so...here's where you lot come in. We want you to use your...uh...unique abilities to enter the city and open the city's doors. In doing so, you will allow the remainder of our combined forces to follow you into the city proper, such that we might redress Isidore and the source this damned fog." He hands Lofty a scroll.
"Our scouts noted that one of the parapets on the east wall has collapsed. They believe this will provide your team with a point of entry into the city. We are uncertain what you'll find inside; you'll have to use your skills and resourcefulness to navigate the castle walls and open the gates." Having regained his composure and characteristic lack of charm, he spits on the ground and folds his arms impatiently. "The importance of this task cannot be overstated. You must succeed - are we understood? What questions do you have?"
Buoyside smiles back at Agrellis as he visually grills him, keenly aware of the Colonel's disapproval of him. He just doesn't know that we are friends, yet. He'll come around. Catching the hostile-friends voice...catch, he turns. Beautiful, He thinks, as he stares at both saints longingly. He is tempted to wave, tempted to wink, to open his mouth just a bit as he tongues at in incisor in a cheeky grin. His thumb idly strokes the sheath of his sword, as if to comfort the blade jus' flirting. Finally, protocol occurs to him and he drops to a knee and casts his gaze downward, annoyed that his vision is less beautiful people and more sloppy trudge path. He's slightly bothered by the dirtying of his knee. But it's the right thing to do, and so he does it.
Once they pass and the situation normalizes, he stands, looks to captain Lofty and blows through his pursed lips in a "Damn, you see that?" sort of way
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
1
Ryloos had only been paying half-attention to what Argellis was saying, distracted by such a holy sight. Her head snaps back from staring at the saints procession as soon as she heard the words, "point of entry into the city." Her hands start to sweat. It's been 20+ years since fleeing the city and now she is about to be home. Finally the chance to get what she feels she deserves.
Ryloos silently walks up and stands slightly behind Buoyside.
HELIOS watches as the Colonel and then others follow dropping to one knee. He has seen this type of action before but it doesn't make any sense to him. "Why would one lower themself and gaze towards the ground when the Sun resides so high above?" He wonders out loud.
Spotting the figures approaching, there is a sense of familiarity coming from the male figure with the maul. He scurries over in his direction. "Why Sir, I can sense Pelor favors you greatly. I am glad to see he sends more of his best to handle this threat at hand! May I extend to you his Blessing before you go?" As HELIOS extends his hand outward towards the man the bracelet around his wrist, oddly the only item he seems to poses other than his backpack and bagpipes, begins to glow. You watch as radiant energy appears in the palm of his hand swirling and forming the ever familiar golden Sun symbol for Pelor himself.
HELIOS chants a few words in a very rough dialect of the dwarven language and the energy in his palm bursts outwards and disappears as he turns back towards the Sargeant and Colonel just in time to catch the end of what is being said. "To the east walls eh? It is the direction in which the sun rises so I will take it as a good sign for things to come! I await your command to proceed Sergeant."
The saint does not even seem to register your presence. You offer your blessing to Arden; but as you extend it in a gesture of familiarity, your blessing gutters out in your hand as if extinguished by a strong wind. So close to the saint, you can feel the depth and profundity of his power and realize, perhaps too late, that to offer a blessing to this man is akin to someone lighting a candle to give illumination to the sun. If you could experience emotions, you might feel shame at the vapidity of your gesture. As it were, the man merely walks past you without pause or other sign of acknowledgement. As he walks away, you appreciate a faint corona shrouding his head, bathing him in a gentle glow as he walks into the fog.
"What kind of gate are we talking about here? Swinging hinges and a crossbeam? If there's a portcullis we'll have to secure the gatehouse long enough to raise it." Lofty points at the map of Cionn tSáile and traces a route from the collapsed tower to the gate. "I suspect they're aware of this vulnerability, any idea of what sort of resistance we'll encounter if we take the direct route? Traveling atop the walls is likely suicidal, but there may be a sewer system we can exploit if we can find an access point in the ruined tower." As he listens to Agrellis reply, he softly weaves a sending. This trick of non-verbal communication was one of the oldest and most useful talents he had picked up over the course of the war.
Message to Ryloos:
"I'm of the opinion that no one ought to die for running from the sort of things we've seen, and I suspect you share that sentiment. There's a list of deserters who've been spotted on the table here." Lofty casually places his left hand on the table right next to the document in question as he leans in to point at the map with his other hand. "Think you can make it disappear?"
Out of character: If Ryloos goes along with this, can she have advantage on the check since I;m working with her to distract him?
Yea, for sure. Ryloos’ deception and sleight of hand modifiers are already ridiculous. Ryloos, you can decide whether or not you’ve divulged your history and familiarity with Cionn tSáile’s infrastructure; you’re playing a pretty private character (medieval libertarian?), so it might be a detail that you kept to yourself.
There aren't many things left in the world that knock Xantlin from his calm and collected demeanor, but the presence of the Saints leaves him awestruck. He hears the faint murmuring of the colonel, HELIOS, and the rest of the crowd, but for a few minutes nothing can break his fixation on the Saints. The living incarnation of the Gods, standing in the same room. He has so many questions but knows it not the time or place. He finally snaps back to reality and walks over to the table with Lofty and the gang, trying to play it cool and act like he's been following all along. Catching the end of Lofty's questions for the colonel, he puts together the fact that WUSS will finally be assigned to break enemy lines. Nervousness and excitement overwhelm him, it looks like it would finally be time to contribute something meaningful to this war.
Agrellis gives you a suspicious side-eye. "Resistance? We have no idea. You can be damned sure there'll be a number of leathchinn...but those'll be the least of your worries, I presume. This fog...it don't follow the rules of wars. It just spits horror after horror at us. The noose was tightening 'round the neck of the whole damned world 'til those saints showed up. Gods preserve them, we'd have been lost without their help."
He pauses, scratching his chin. "You do ask a good question about the gate. It's enormous - two score high and said to be wrought of bronze. There's a mechanism used to lift it somewhere in the gatehouse. You'll need to access that, perhaps attempt a field repair in the event that it's broken. Or perhaps you'll come up with something more...creative.
"At any rate, I had similar thoughts about your approach." He gives Lofty a brief nod, with something almost resembling respect. "Turns out there is an extensive sewer system underlying the city. You're cleverer by half than you look, Sergeant. Saints know what you'll find down there though. Rumor has it that, before he went mad, Isidore's engineers rerouted the river Ogma to run through the city, around his throne. He believed running water warded off evil or so they say, the quack. At any rate, the river supposedly kept the sewers clean of filth...maybe it still does so? No doubt the fog's thinner on top of the walls, but you'd certainly be vulnerable to attack assuming there's something with half a brain behind the fog."
He stops pacing from side to side and sighs. "Ultimately, the decision is yours. I expect you'll be forced to make a decision on the fly without input from your commanding officers. That's why we picked you, Lofty. You've never hesitated in picking a course previously." He grins darkly. "Even when those decisions went against your direct orders."
"Similarly, your team has been assembled expressly for this mission. These two -" pointing at Xaitlin and Buoyside "- are godtouched, which we hope will translate into resilience from the corrupting influence of the fog. They don't seem no cowards, neither. This one -" now indicating Ryloos "- I caught attempting to steal my saddle from my horse. With me seated in it. Nearly succeeded too. Best damn lockpick I've seen, and I think she's got some ties to the city...though perhaps she would like to forget them? This damn thing -" he nods at HELIOS "- just showed up out of the blue one day stating that it had been built to end the prophecy of the mist. Far be it from to refuse. 'Tain't got no human gibbly bits, so I assume it's immune to the fog. Also, those fists...they do cruel things to flesh. And you, Lofty -" a pause, here "- while you ain't half the man of Turgid Dirk (and I mean that literally, that great swollen bastard), you've got a fair head on your shoulders. You have your code, but you're not paralyzed by a lack of clear directives. I trust you'll do what's right to see this benighted mission through...one way or another."
He clears his throat, turning his back to you to face the white walls of Cionn tSáile. "Any last questions? Are you ready now?"
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Lofty's magical whisper reaches Ryloos's ear. Her eyes dash to the paper next to Lofty's hand. She replies, "I shall." She walks to the table where Lofty and the captain are speaking, place her left on the list of deserters and her right on a map nearby. "I know the city better than any map," she says as she pulls the map across the table in front of Lofty and Argellis and conveniently covering her left hand and the contents underneath. "I was born, raised, and grew up in the gutters of the streets of Cionn t'Saile. This straightforward path will be a slaughterhouse we walk into willingly!" As she says this, she clears the table with a quick, over-exaggerated gesture with her right hand as she quickly pulls the deserter list off the table and behind her back with her left.
Buoyside continues to listen to Agrellis' and Lofty's conversation while mulling over their options, although his demeanor has totally changed. Gone is the broad, friendly smile, replaced with a scowl. His youthful good looks have given way to a more gaunt appearance, the faint shimmer of pastel light that gleams from his clear skin has dissipated. He turns his back to his superiors and takes a few steps towards the mist, looking it over. You can't be certain, but it almost appears as if there is more mud and inky black sludge seeping up from his bootprints.
He grins and chuckles at Ryloos' outburst, clapping his hands together. "A feisty *****, she is!"
He slides the sheath off of his blade just a few inches, running a thumb along the surface to test the sharpness. He is seemingly unbothered by the blood that is drawn. He doesn't utter a word to the sword.
"I think we've ****ed off enough, yeah? I'm ready."
Buoyside has a split personality. My current plan is to roll every 5 turns or so (perhaps more often in stressful situations/battle) to determine which personality he's currently in. I'm just manually doing this switch now to introduce both sides of him. It's probably fair to assume this change wouldn't be unexpected to your characters, as we've been in battle together for some time.
Ryloos turns, glares at Buoyside for moment and then replaces it an easy slight grin as she walks away from the captains tables. She begins formulating a map from the entrance point to the tower via the sewers. She spent many summers exploring those tunnels and knows them well. For most of her life, that was only place she could find the privacy to bathe.
Despite knowing it was coming, Lofty still wasn't able to spot the half-elf's sleight of hand. He sends Ryloos the mental equivalent of a knowing wink and turns back to Agrellis.
"I think we'll be taking the low road. If the gate's as large as you say, I'll bet they've got a privy in the gatehouse. It won't be pretty, but we might maintain some element of surprise." Lofty spends a moment considering the foul work ahead of them. "Disease wards for my soldiers would be appreciated. I'd hate to survive this day only to die of sewer rot. Health potions as well, they're hard to come by down in the camp."
"I shall search for the nearest sewer entrance while the rest of you obtain the items the Sargeant requested. Just look for my light when you are ready to begin." A large ball of sunlight energy appears in his hand and he raises it forming a beacon of light that fades slightly as he walks towards the fog.
Investigation check - 7
HELIOS wanders off towards the walls of the city chattering nonsense out loud.
Agrellis glares at you, arms folded. "What makes you think I've the resources to spare? I told you before, go down to the commissary and use your own salary to get yourselves outfitted!"
After several moments of cold intensity, however, his stern demeanor softens. He hands you two health potions. Health potions restore 2d4+2 HP immediately and may be used as a bonus action during combat.
"These are all I have. I think they've been leaching lead from their vials, so I wouldn't drink too much 'less you've got a predilection for the shakes. They'll see you through in a pinch, though."
Agrellis turns away. Nearby, the sun is shining but in the distance the fog waits, heavy and impenetrable. "I think it's about time you get going. Besides, that metal man, he seems eager to meet the day." Agrellis is unlikely to give you anything else without some encouragement. You'd have to roll up a persuasion check or something similar. He may still have some resources or information - up to you guys.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Xantlin, who has been quietly listening since being snapped out of his Saint-induced trance, steps forward as Agrellis begins to walk away.
"Agrellis, we are ready to perform our duties and march into the most dangerous place this world may have ever seen, but it would be foolish to do so without being as prepared as possible. You said yourself that this team was selected for very specific skills, this must have been done with some forethought based on what we may face in the fog. You or someone in this camp must have more information to give us before we venture forth, no?"
19 - Persuasion
Persuasion roll = 1d20 + charisma + persuasion? I might not be doing this right
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Hearing Xantlin's appeal to Argellis, she realizes the cleric speaks the truth and decides to aid his cause. Becoming completely quiet and still, she casts her Friends spell on Argellis.
Your plaintive request resonates with Agrellis. "Damn it...you're right. We've lost too many good men. I was told that the keep might hold a -"
RYLOOS
It is at that moment that you cast Friends. Unfortunately, you done jambled it. Not only does the spell not work as intended, but Agrellis realizes that you have attempted to bamboozle him. He is, perhaps unsurprisingly, furious.
"YOU GODDAMN THIEF." As he screams, the external jugular veins on his neck bulge dangerously. "THINK YOU CAN ****IN' SWINDLE ME? I'LL HAVE YOU FLENSED, YOU WRETCH. GET OUT OF MY SIGHT BEFORE MY MP'S TAKE YOU TO THE GALLOWS!"
ALL
With that, you are unceremoniously expelled from the camp. You hurriedly begin down the nearby White Road, soon thereafter passing by the perimeter outpost and the palisade wall. The fog begins to collect at your feet. It is heavy, unnaturally so, to the point that you feel almost as if you are wading in water. The path ahead becomes increasingly difficult to see - your visibility at this point is roughly twenty feet afore you.
You hear intermittent sounds of battle - the clang of steel, the cries of dying men, the groans of something inhuman - around you, but the fog obscures their origin. It is exceedingly disorienting.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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LOFTY
As the colonel opens his mouth to hail you, he is interrupted by an aide. You take the opportunity to browse some of the scrolls and papers scattered before him. Most offer little information; reports of missing or killed companies, alleged sightings of deserters, desperate pleas addressed to Isidore and the Lannover council of regent scholars to recall this fog, manifests of supplies and maps of troop movement. You suddenly have a much better understanding of the vastness of resources being marshaled to the war effort under Ailfryd Ó Morain, the Ard-Ceannaire. You also notice reports of dissidence in the more remote regions of Súilleabháin; finally, you spy a letter written in a child's hand addressed to "Colonel Daddy."
RYLOOS
Gotta roll to get
the boy's soulany additional information.ALL
Agrellis dismisses the aide with a tired and desultory wave before addressing your team, running a hand through graying hair. The colonel is handsome, with a strong jaw and enviable mustache; but his eyes belie a profound and crippling fatigue, etched in the wrinkles about his eyes and his seemingly immutable frown. Turning to your squad, Colonel Agrellis studies you for a moment. Several, actually, most of which are devoted to glaring at HELIOS and Buoyside - the former for his preposterous salute, the latter for his uncomfortable propinquity - his smoldering anger tangible in his white-knuckled fists and tense trapezius muscles. After a period of uncomfortable silence, he speaks, his voice low and mirthless.
"At ease, 'soldiers.'" His cynicism is palpable. He addresses Lofty. "Sergeant Lofty. I note that your attire fails to comply with then standard uniform regulations of officers, but I've come to expect little more of you. I hope your men are well rested."
With a perfunctory nod, he directs your attention to a crude map detailing the positions of the 4/5ths Army in relation to the city of Cionn tSáile's walls. You note that the heart of the city is covered in question marks. The colonel speaks once more.
"Here's the issue. We can't seem to get into this damn city. Every time we manage to scare some of our men over Kinsale's -" you notice that his pronunciation suggests that he was reared in Ardun Ghariba or southern Dunbane "- damn walls, we lose all contact with them. Fourteen hundred men, and not a trace of them left! 'Cept those that come walking back out of the mist...but then again, there ain't much left of 'em. The so-called leathchinn." He sighes. "It's this damn fog. It's swallowing us whole."
As he speaks, a number of companies march and/or ride past, each disappearing into the fog. But here, Agrellis' voice catches, and he clumsily falls to one knee, bowing his head. Turning, you watch a young woman pass through the midst of a company of soldiers, the men genuflecting before her. Dressed in elaborate white robes and carrying a beautiful decorated kite shield, you recognize her as the Sixth Saint Alythsia. She is accompanied by a group of warriors clad in plate armor and white livery - her storied knight priestesses. Alythsia's lovely face is calm, eyes closed and face slightly elevated as if in some sort of ecclesiastical rapture. Her companions regard you and the other soldiers with suspicion and disdain as they pass, their comely faces marred by haughtiness.
Some distance behind a young man follows, his stride slow and graceful. Tall, blond, and almost feminine in his beauty, the Seventh Saint Arden is dressed in half plate, the massive maul Gloom balanced casually on his right shoulder; its silvered head pitted and stained with blood from countless battles, Gloom is equal parts sacred relic and cruel implement of war. Arden's noble visage is held facing forward, jaw clenched, eyes unfocused, his posture suggesting a carefully contained violence; the saint appears preoccupied with his thoughts, their nature inscrutable but troubling. You briefly ponder the inner dialogue of a living incarnation of the gods.
It is only after the saints have passed do you realize how quiet the camp had fallen, almost as if the war itself had held its breath in their divine presence. Several men nearby wipe tears of joy from their faces; yet others press their lips to the ground in reverence. Suffice it to say that their presence on the battlefield is a big deal.
Blowing his nose on his sleeve, Agrellis turns and resumes his speech, his voice cracking with emotion. "Uh, so...here's where you lot come in. We want you to use your...uh...unique abilities to enter the city and open the city's doors. In doing so, you will allow the remainder of our combined forces to follow you into the city proper, such that we might redress Isidore and the source this damned fog." He hands Lofty a scroll.
"Our scouts noted that one of the parapets on the east wall has collapsed. They believe this will provide your team with a point of entry into the city. We are uncertain what you'll find inside; you'll have to use your skills and resourcefulness to navigate the castle walls and open the gates." Having regained his composure and characteristic lack of charm, he spits on the ground and folds his arms impatiently. "The importance of this task cannot be overstated. You must succeed - are we understood? What questions do you have?"
Buoyside smiles back at Agrellis as he visually grills him, keenly aware of the Colonel's disapproval of him. He just doesn't know that we are friends, yet. He'll come around. Catching the hostile-friends voice...catch, he turns. Beautiful, He thinks, as he stares at both saints longingly. He is tempted to wave, tempted to wink, to open his mouth just a bit as he tongues at in incisor in a cheeky grin. His thumb idly strokes the sheath of his sword, as if to comfort the blade jus' flirting. Finally, protocol occurs to him and he drops to a knee and casts his gaze downward, annoyed that his vision is less beautiful people and more sloppy trudge path. He's slightly bothered by the dirtying of his knee. But it's the right thing to do, and so he does it.
Once they pass and the situation normalizes, he stands, looks to captain Lofty and blows through his pursed lips in a "Damn, you see that?" sort of way
Character Sheet
AC: 16
1
Ryloos had only been paying half-attention to what Argellis was saying, distracted by such a holy sight. Her head snaps back from staring at the saints procession as soon as she heard the words, "point of entry into the city." Her hands start to sweat. It's been 20+ years since fleeing the city and now she is about to be home. Finally the chance to get what she feels she deserves.
Ryloos silently walks up and stands slightly behind Buoyside.
"When do we go in?," she asks.
HELIOS watches as the Colonel and then others follow dropping to one knee. He has seen this type of action before but it doesn't make any sense to him. "Why would one lower themself and gaze towards the ground when the Sun resides so high above?" He wonders out loud.
Spotting the figures approaching, there is a sense of familiarity coming from the male figure with the maul. He scurries over in his direction. "Why Sir, I can sense Pelor favors you greatly. I am glad to see he sends more of his best to handle this threat at hand! May I extend to you his Blessing before you go?" As HELIOS extends his hand outward towards the man the bracelet around his wrist, oddly the only item he seems to poses other than his backpack and bagpipes, begins to glow. You watch as radiant energy appears in the palm of his hand swirling and forming the ever familiar golden Sun symbol for Pelor himself.
HELIOS chants a few words in a very rough dialect of the dwarven language and the energy in his palm bursts outwards and disappears as he turns back towards the Sargeant and Colonel just in time to catch the end of what is being said. "To the east walls eh? It is the direction in which the sun rises so I will take it as a good sign for things to come! I await your command to proceed Sergeant."
H.E.L.I.O.S - Warforged Sun Soul Monk
AC - 19
16
HELIOS
The saint does not even seem to register your presence. You offer your blessing to Arden; but as you extend it in a gesture of familiarity, your blessing gutters out in your hand as if extinguished by a strong wind. So close to the saint, you can feel the depth and profundity of his power and realize, perhaps too late, that to offer a blessing to this man is akin to someone lighting a candle to give illumination to the sun. If you could experience emotions, you might feel shame at the vapidity of your gesture. As it were, the man merely walks past you without pause or other sign of acknowledgement. As he walks away, you appreciate a faint corona shrouding his head, bathing him in a gentle glow as he walks into the fog.
"What kind of gate are we talking about here? Swinging hinges and a crossbeam? If there's a portcullis we'll have to secure the gatehouse long enough to raise it." Lofty points at the map of Cionn tSáile and traces a route from the collapsed tower to the gate. "I suspect they're aware of this vulnerability, any idea of what sort of resistance we'll encounter if we take the direct route? Traveling atop the walls is likely suicidal, but there may be a sewer system we can exploit if we can find an access point in the ruined tower." As he listens to Agrellis reply, he softly weaves a sending. This trick of non-verbal communication was one of the oldest and most useful talents he had picked up over the course of the war.
Message to Ryloos:
"I'm of the opinion that no one ought to die for running from the sort of things we've seen, and I suspect you share that sentiment. There's a list of deserters who've been spotted on the table here." Lofty casually places his left hand on the table right next to the document in question as he leans in to point at the map with his other hand. "Think you can make it disappear?"
Out of character: If Ryloos goes along with this, can she have advantage on the check since I;m working with her to distract him?
Character Sheets: Page1 Page2 Page3
HP: 35 AC: 20 Saves: Str+2 Dex+0 Con+4 Int+2 Wis+2 Cha+6
Yea, for sure. Ryloos’ deception and sleight of hand modifiers are already ridiculous. Ryloos, you can decide whether or not you’ve divulged your history and familiarity with Cionn tSáile’s infrastructure; you’re playing a pretty private character (medieval libertarian?), so it might be a detail that you kept to yourself.
There aren't many things left in the world that knock Xantlin from his calm and collected demeanor, but the presence of the Saints leaves him awestruck. He hears the faint murmuring of the colonel, HELIOS, and the rest of the crowd, but for a few minutes nothing can break his fixation on the Saints. The living incarnation of the Gods, standing in the same room. He has so many questions but knows it not the time or place. He finally snaps back to reality and walks over to the table with Lofty and the gang, trying to play it cool and act like he's been following all along. Catching the end of Lofty's questions for the colonel, he puts together the fact that WUSS will finally be assigned to break enemy lines. Nervousness and excitement overwhelm him, it looks like it would finally be time to contribute something meaningful to this war.
Xantlin Pegason (imgur)
33/33 HP
4/4 level 1 spells, 3/3 level 2 spells, 2/2 level 3 spells
AC = 15, Spell attack bonus = 7, spell save DC = 15
ALL
Agrellis gives you a suspicious side-eye. "Resistance? We have no idea. You can be damned sure there'll be a number of leathchinn...but those'll be the least of your worries, I presume. This fog...it don't follow the rules of wars. It just spits horror after horror at us. The noose was tightening 'round the neck of the whole damned world 'til those saints showed up. Gods preserve them, we'd have been lost without their help."
He pauses, scratching his chin. "You do ask a good question about the gate. It's enormous - two score high and said to be wrought of bronze. There's a mechanism used to lift it somewhere in the gatehouse. You'll need to access that, perhaps attempt a field repair in the event that it's broken. Or perhaps you'll come up with something more...creative.
"At any rate, I had similar thoughts about your approach." He gives Lofty a brief nod, with something almost resembling respect. "Turns out there is an extensive sewer system underlying the city. You're cleverer by half than you look, Sergeant. Saints know what you'll find down there though. Rumor has it that, before he went mad, Isidore's engineers rerouted the river Ogma to run through the city, around his throne. He believed running water warded off evil or so they say, the quack. At any rate, the river supposedly kept the sewers clean of filth...maybe it still does so? No doubt the fog's thinner on top of the walls, but you'd certainly be vulnerable to attack assuming there's something with half a brain behind the fog."
He stops pacing from side to side and sighs. "Ultimately, the decision is yours. I expect you'll be forced to make a decision on the fly without input from your commanding officers. That's why we picked you, Lofty. You've never hesitated in picking a course previously." He grins darkly. "Even when those decisions went against your direct orders."
"Similarly, your team has been assembled expressly for this mission. These two -" pointing at Xaitlin and Buoyside "- are godtouched, which we hope will translate into resilience from the corrupting influence of the fog. They don't seem no cowards, neither. This one -" now indicating Ryloos "- I caught attempting to steal my saddle from my horse. With me seated in it. Nearly succeeded too. Best damn lockpick I've seen, and I think she's got some ties to the city...though perhaps she would like to forget them? This damn thing -" he nods at HELIOS "- just showed up out of the blue one day stating that it had been built to end the prophecy of the mist. Far be it from to refuse. 'Tain't got no human gibbly bits, so I assume it's immune to the fog. Also, those fists...they do cruel things to flesh. And you, Lofty -" a pause, here "- while you ain't half the man of Turgid Dirk (and I mean that literally, that great swollen bastard), you've got a fair head on your shoulders. You have your code, but you're not paralyzed by a lack of clear directives. I trust you'll do what's right to see this benighted mission through...one way or another."
He clears his throat, turning his back to you to face the white walls of Cionn tSáile. "Any last questions? Are you ready now?"
Lofty's magical whisper reaches Ryloos's ear. Her eyes dash to the paper next to Lofty's hand. She replies, "I shall." She walks to the table where Lofty and the captain are speaking, place her left on the list of deserters and her right on a map nearby. "I know the city better than any map," she says as she pulls the map across the table in front of Lofty and Argellis and conveniently covering her left hand and the contents underneath. "I was born, raised, and grew up in the gutters of the streets of Cionn t'Saile. This straightforward path will be a slaughterhouse we walk into willingly!" As she says this, she clears the table with a quick, over-exaggerated gesture with her right hand as she quickly pulls the deserter list off the table and behind her back with her left.
21
RYLOOS
Your hysterics befuddle Agrellis. He stares at you with open mouth, utterly oblivious to the now absent sheet of deserters.
"Soldier! More nonsense like that and I'll have you flogged!"
Buoyside continues to listen to Agrellis' and Lofty's conversation while mulling over their options, although his demeanor has totally changed. Gone is the broad, friendly smile, replaced with a scowl. His youthful good looks have given way to a more gaunt appearance, the faint shimmer of pastel light that gleams from his clear skin has dissipated. He turns his back to his superiors and takes a few steps towards the mist, looking it over. You can't be certain, but it almost appears as if there is more mud and inky black sludge seeping up from his bootprints.
He grins and chuckles at Ryloos' outburst, clapping his hands together. "A feisty *****, she is!"
He slides the sheath off of his blade just a few inches, running a thumb along the surface to test the sharpness. He is seemingly unbothered by the blood that is drawn. He doesn't utter a word to the sword.
"I think we've ****ed off enough, yeah? I'm ready."
Buoyside has a split personality. My current plan is to roll every 5 turns or so (perhaps more often in stressful situations/battle) to determine which personality he's currently in. I'm just manually doing this switch now to introduce both sides of him. It's probably fair to assume this change wouldn't be unexpected to your characters, as we've been in battle together for some time.
Character Sheet
AC: 16
Ryloos turns, glares at Buoyside for moment and then replaces it an easy slight grin as she walks away from the captains tables. She begins formulating a map from the entrance point to the tower via the sewers. She spent many summers exploring those tunnels and knows them well. For most of her life, that was only place she could find the privacy to bathe.
Despite knowing it was coming, Lofty still wasn't able to spot the half-elf's sleight of hand. He sends Ryloos the mental equivalent of a knowing wink and turns back to Agrellis.
"I think we'll be taking the low road. If the gate's as large as you say, I'll bet they've got a privy in the gatehouse. It won't be pretty, but we might maintain some element of surprise." Lofty spends a moment considering the foul work ahead of them. "Disease wards for my soldiers would be appreciated. I'd hate to survive this day only to die of sewer rot. Health potions as well, they're hard to come by down in the camp."
Character Sheets: Page1 Page2 Page3
HP: 35 AC: 20 Saves: Str+2 Dex+0 Con+4 Int+2 Wis+2 Cha+6
"I shall search for the nearest sewer entrance while the rest of you obtain the items the Sargeant requested. Just look for my light when you are ready to begin." A large ball of sunlight energy appears in his hand and he raises it forming a beacon of light that fades slightly as he walks towards the fog.
Investigation check - 7
HELIOS wanders off towards the walls of the city chattering nonsense out loud.
H.E.L.I.O.S - Warforged Sun Soul Monk
AC - 19
LOFTY
Agrellis glares at you, arms folded. "What makes you think I've the resources to spare? I told you before, go down to the commissary and use your own salary to get yourselves outfitted!"
After several moments of cold intensity, however, his stern demeanor softens. He hands you two health potions. Health potions restore 2d4+2 HP immediately and may be used as a bonus action during combat.
"These are all I have. I think they've been leaching lead from their vials, so I wouldn't drink too much 'less you've got a predilection for the shakes. They'll see you through in a pinch, though."
Agrellis turns away. Nearby, the sun is shining but in the distance the fog waits, heavy and impenetrable. "I think it's about time you get going. Besides, that metal man, he seems eager to meet the day." Agrellis is unlikely to give you anything else without some encouragement. You'd have to roll up a persuasion check or something similar. He may still have some resources or information - up to you guys.
Xantlin, who has been quietly listening since being snapped out of his Saint-induced trance, steps forward as Agrellis begins to walk away.
"Agrellis, we are ready to perform our duties and march into the most dangerous place this world may have ever seen, but it would be foolish to do so without being as prepared as possible. You said yourself that this team was selected for very specific skills, this must have been done with some forethought based on what we may face in the fog. You or someone in this camp must have more information to give us before we venture forth, no?"
19 - Persuasion
Persuasion roll = 1d20 + charisma + persuasion? I might not be doing this right
Xantlin Pegason (imgur)
33/33 HP
4/4 level 1 spells, 3/3 level 2 spells, 2/2 level 3 spells
AC = 15, Spell attack bonus = 7, spell save DC = 15
10
okay wtf
Xantlin Pegason (imgur)
33/33 HP
4/4 level 1 spells, 3/3 level 2 spells, 2/2 level 3 spells
AC = 15, Spell attack bonus = 7, spell save DC = 15
Hearing Xantlin's appeal to Argellis, she realizes the cleric speaks the truth and decides to aid his cause. Becoming completely quiet and still, she casts her Friends spell on Argellis.
13
XANTLIN
Your plaintive request resonates with Agrellis. "Damn it...you're right. We've lost too many good men. I was told that the keep might hold a -"
RYLOOS
It is at that moment that you cast Friends. Unfortunately, you done jambled it. Not only does the spell not work as intended, but Agrellis realizes that you have attempted to bamboozle him. He is, perhaps unsurprisingly, furious.
"YOU GODDAMN THIEF." As he screams, the external jugular veins on his neck bulge dangerously. "THINK YOU CAN ****IN' SWINDLE ME? I'LL HAVE YOU FLENSED, YOU WRETCH. GET OUT OF MY SIGHT BEFORE MY MP'S TAKE YOU TO THE GALLOWS!"
ALL
With that, you are unceremoniously expelled from the camp. You hurriedly begin down the nearby White Road, soon thereafter passing by the perimeter outpost and the palisade wall. The fog begins to collect at your feet. It is heavy, unnaturally so, to the point that you feel almost as if you are wading in water. The path ahead becomes increasingly difficult to see - your visibility at this point is roughly twenty feet afore you.
You hear intermittent sounds of battle - the clang of steel, the cries of dying men, the groans of something inhuman - around you, but the fog obscures their origin. It is exceedingly disorienting.